He held out a hand from which he removed his fur mitt.  Bat turned.  He saw the hand, and disregarded it in a surge of feeling.

“Tell ’em?  Tell ’em?” he cried.  “Say, Les, for God Almighty’s sake don’t you pull out.  You’re my friend.  You’re the one feller in the world that matters a curse to me.  Quit boy.  Stop right here, an’—­”

“Will you tell ’em?”

The hand was thrust further towards the lumberman so that he could no longer ignore it.

“Hell!  Yes!” he cried, in fierce mental anguish.  “I’ll tell ’em—­if I have to.”  He seized the outstretched hand in both of his and gripped it with crushing force.  “You’re goin’—­now?”

“Sure.”

Their hands fell apart.  Bat’s dropped to his side like leaden weights.  “So long,” he said dully, as the other took his place in the sled.  Then he added, “So long, Les.”

The sled needed breaking out, and the lumberman watched the operation of it without a word.  His emotions were too real, to deep for anything more.  He looked on while the first sharp order was flung at the dogs.  He watched them leap to their feet and stand ready, great, powerful, untamed souls eager for their, task.  Then the man in the sled looked round as he strung out the long lash of his short-stocked whip.

“So long, Bat,” he cried smilingly.  And his farewell was instantly followed by the sharp command to “mush.”

* * * * *

Far out on the desolate highlands the dogs broke trail over a waste of virgin snow.  The cold had abated, and the flurry of snow that rose up under their feet was wet and melting.  The way lay through the maze of woodland bluffs which lined the upper slopes of the course of the Beaver River.  Beyond them, northward, lay the windswept barrens of the highlands.

Father Adam knew the trail by heart.  The maze of bluffs through which he was passing afforded him no difficulties or anxieties.  He read them with the certainty of wide and long experience.  There was nothing new that Labrador had to show him.  He knew it all, and revelled in the wide freedom its fierce territory afforded.  The moods of the country concerned him not at all.  Furious or gentle, tearful or hard with the bitterness of desperate winter, it was all one to him.  He loved the twilight of its mysterious, fickle heart.  It was as much his home as any place on earth.

The dogs swept on at a steady gait.  The cruel whip played over furry backs, a never-ceasing threat.  And so the miles were hungrily devoured.  It was the first day of freedom for dogs and man alike, and each moment of it yielded a sense of almost fierce joy.

The bluffs narrowed in, and the softer snow slowed the going.  Instantly a sharp command hurled the leading dog heading for the open where the surface was hard and dry.  The team swung away behind him and the sled pursued.  Then the silence broke.

A shot rang out.  It came from the shelter of a bluff directly ahead.  The leading dog floundered.  Then the brute fell with a fierce yelp, and sprawled in the snow while the others swept over his inert body.  The man in the sled strove to brake the sled with the “gee-pole” which he snatched to his aid.  There was a moment of desperate struggle.  Then the sled flung tail up in the air and the man was hurled headlong amidst his dogs.